


The Good Thing That Hurts

by rixsig-writes (rixsig)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: And Seven is having a grand ol' time, Awkwardness, Cluelessness, Fluff, Increasing levels of desperation, Jumin is laughing but on the inside, M/M, Masochism, Rough Sex, Slight Seven spoilers I guess?, The porn is nigh my friends, Yoosung is suffering, Zen is too pure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rixsig/pseuds/rixsig-writes
Summary: Or: How Not to Tell Your Boyfriend You're a Kinky Bastard





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello naughty children it's rarepair time

He had known he was like this for a while, sort of. In the beginning he never really thought about it. It was just a bubble of excitement that fizzed in his stomach whenever someone gave him orders or joked about him being like a puppy. It was why he always, always fell for Seven’s pranks even when he knew for a fact that Seven was lying. Yeah, Seven’s pranks were awful and dumb and irritating, but still…but still…

One time the keyboard fell while he was playing LOLOL and he’d bashed his hand so hard against the desk while trying to catch it by reflex that he’d bruised the whole outer edge of his palm. It hurt and he’d screeched and he’d whined about it all day in the chatrooms, but the next day in the middle of class he found himself poking and prodding at it endlessly, fascinated by that bone-deep throbbing. It was on his writing hand too, so whenever he had to jot down some notes his hand had to stretch and contract and it was…it was so…

The girl in the seat right next to him offered to give him copies of her notes, but Yoosung refused. Maybe he’d been too cheery or maybe he hadn’t been cheery enough, but the girl gave him such a strange look that he’d gone scrambling for an excuse, something about only being able to study from his own notes properly. Something dumb. He’d made sure not to touch his bruise for the rest of class.

He’d never really thought about it until then, how weird it was.

Now he thinks about it all the time. He’s not in the discovery phase anymore: he’s done all the google searches and has been fascinated and horrified by the results in turns, he’s talked to people on forums, he’s experimented alone, just a little bit, and he’s made peace with the idea at this point. He’s a masochist. He’s _definitely_ a masochist. The problem is…now what? How do you bring this up to someone?

Or more specifically, how the hell is he going to bring this up to _Zen_?

Zen isn’t like him, he knows that much. The guy is as pure as the driven snow and just as vanilla. He’s all fairytales and true love conquers all and sappy lines, which, well…Yoosung actually really likes that about him. Yoosung lives for that cheesy romantic stuff; it’s what he’s been waiting for this whole time. He just, uh, happens to be a kinky bastard too.

He’d asked Seven about it once—because of course the genius hacker extraordinaire had uncovered his scandalous internet searches ages ago—and Seven almost injured himself laughing so hard.

“HAHAHAHA, y-y-you w-want to know what???”

“Shut uuuuuup,” Yoosung moans, covering his face with his hands, “I’m serious! Like, how’d you do the whole…crossdressing thing with your girlfriend?”

“Hmmmm, well she already knew I did because I post photos allllll over the chatrooms. Then it was just a matter of surprising her when she got home! She was into it~”

“Ugh, you’re no help!”

Seven just snickers at him and grabs another handful of Honey Buddha chips, which by the way, he still wouldn’t share even though he had a literal warehouse of them. God, why couldn’t he just have gotten with Seven? At least then Yoosung would be dating an actual sadist.

“It’s not like you’ve been that subtle either,” Seven adds contemplatively, “Didn’t you literally say you might be into pain in one chat? That was a while ago though, and who knows if Zen was even paying attention.”

“Maybe I should just— “

“Tell him?” Seven cuts in.

“No! No, no, no, no. No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird?? I don’t know, how do you even bring that up? Hey, would you mind throwing me around and bruising me up and maybe you could p-put your hand around my throat— “

“HAHAHAHA— “

Yoosung kicks him.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so cute~” Seven cackles, “And yes, that’s how you bring it up. Make out a bit, get in the mood, pop the question, and there you go!”

“You make it sound so easy…”

“It is! But you can always work your way up to it if you’re that nervous.”

“What do you mean work my way up?” Yoosung stares hopefully.

“You know, drop some hints like you’ve been doing in the messenger but in person.” Seven leans forward, grabs Yoosung’s shoulders, and shakes him, “Go on Yoosung, take that boy on a date and work your charms! You can do it!”

“…I can?”

“You can!!!”

Yoosung draws himself up, looking a little more confident, “Right…right, yeah! I can do this!”

“And besides, Zen isn’t the most adventurous, but surely he’s got to have something,” Seven muses, “Maybe something connected to his narcissism? Hey, Yoosung, have you ever seen Zen jerk off in front of a mirror?”

Yoosung leaves pretty quickly after that.

 

* * *

 

Seven’s a jerk but he typically gives good advice if you can somehow excavate it out from his twisted sense of humor, so Yoosung calls Zen up right away and asks him out on a date that very weekend. After the phone call ends Yoosung has about three seconds of basking in the way Zen’s voice had gotten all warm and happy before reality coldly hands Yoosung a heaping plate of “OH GOD. WHAT AM I DOING.”

It’s all well and good for Seven to tell him to hint at it in person, but Yoosung has no idea how to go about it. When he’d done it on the messenger it had always been spontaneous. Someone else would say something that, well…. y’know….and Yoosung would just roll with it. Enthusiastically. From behind the safe refuge of a phone screen, where he can pass it all off as a joke. No people looking at him like that girl in class, almost no consequences at all. And now he’s supposed to do it in person with someone he really cares about and wants to impress? Nooooooooo. He wants to go on the chat and whine about this, but even that’s impossible.

He has a brief moment where he seriously considers calling Zen up again and cancelling, but the very next moment he imagines Zen going, “…are you sure you can’t? Ah, well, I guess something must have come up…” in that dejected tone of voice, and Yoosung just can’t. He can’t do it. And okay, maybe he has _absolutely no plan_ , but he can at least make it a good date, right? And if a good opportunity comes up he can take it. And pray really, really hard that it works out.

Which is how Yoosung finds himself waiting by the subway station closest to his college on Saturday holding a half-dozen roses. He’d had to settle for six. Flowers were a lot more expensive than he thought, and, well, he’d already spent some of his cash on that new limited armor set on LOLOL so…

“Yoosung!”

Yoosung looks up and…there he is. Always the easiest person to pick out of a crowd. If the silver hair isn’t a dead giveaway, the way people’s heads turn as he walks by would be. Sometimes it still irritates him just how handsome Zen is, and only a coin toss could tell whether that’s because Yoosung is being a little envious or being a little possessive.

Zen strides forward fast with his long legs but stops short a few feet away, face frozen in a strange expression as he stares at the bouquet in Yoosung’s hands. Oh—Oh no. What did he do. Somehow he messed up already. He knows flowers are exactly the traditional sort of romance thing Zen loves, and Yoosung is sure he’s not allergic to anything but cats; he’s 110% certain of that, absolutely, positively, so what…? He stares at the roses himself. Is there something wrong with them? Did he get the wrong kind? They’re red, so…but maybe there’s a different kind of red rose? He should’ve thought to ask Seven what kind to get, actually no, scratch that, Seven would _definitely_ have made him pick the wrong kind—

“Pfft…” Zen muffles his laughter with one hand and brings something from out behind his back with the other. It’s…a half-dozen roses. The exact same kind. Zen winks. “Seems we’re of the same mind today.”

Yoosung feels his mouth fall open in shock as he looks from the bouquet in Zen’s hand to his own, “Hey…hey, wait what, why is yours so much prettier than mine, _seriously_? That’s not fair!”

“Come on now, don’t pout like that,” Zen laughs freely this time and steps closer, pulling one of Yoosung’s hands away from Yoosung’s bouquet so he can put his own right next to it. Yoosung tries not to get distracted at how Zen’s knuckles brush up against his fingertips, “See? Together we have a full dozen. Beautiful, right? Besides,” Zen says, switching the bouquets, “This one’s yours now.”

It’s amazing how quickly Zen can make his entire mind go blank. Yoosung flushes and leans forward just enough for his forehead to rest on Zen’s upper arm, “You’re so weird.”

Being so close, Yoosung catches the full force of Zen’s cologne and just a hint of something under it. It smells like—Wait. Is that what he thinks it is…? Yoosung takes a deliberate sniff. Yes. Yes, it is what he thinks it is. He pulls back and squints at Zen, “You’ve been smoking again.”

“Ack, uh,” Zen sniffs his own shoulder, “Must be left over on my clothes from last time.”

“Really?” Yoosung asks, wide-eyed. He _is_ wearing the same outfit he wore on their last date. It’s a little weird, “That stuff really clings, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it, uh,” Zen stares into Yoosung’s eyes for a long moment and then slumps, sighing, “Okay, I did smoke, just a little. Just one! But I’m not the only one who’s been bad,” Zen traces a half-circle under one of Yoosung’s eyes, “Just when did you get to sleep, hm?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…”

“Thought so.” Zen smiles smugly.

“Hey, I’ve been playing LOLOL a lot less than I used to! I used to be #2 and now I’m just barely in the top ten.”

“And I smoke a lot less than I used to.”

“Hey, that is _not_ the same thing and you know it!”

Zen snickers, “How about you stop playing and I’ll stop smoking?”

“NO.”

While Zen is occupied being very amused with himself, Yoosung takes the opportunity to look at his new bouquet a little more closely. It really is a lot fresher and more vibrant than the one Yoosung had gotten for him, that jerk. The dew on it practically sparkles. Yoosung repositions one of his hands on it to look at it from another angle and something bites into his skin, sparking a bright dot of pain on his left index finger. Yoosung yelps and draws his hand back. A tiny bead of blood wells up where it pricked him, and suddenly Yoosung remembers what he called this date for in the first place.

Zen startles, then grabs the bouquet from him to inspect it. He frowns. “One of the roses in here doesn’t have its thorns taken off. I’m sorry, I should have checked it— “

One half of Yoosung’s brain is saying _it’s hopeless, look how concerned he is just over a rose thorn, he’ll never want to do it, there’s no way this is going to work_. The other half is just continually chanting _this is it this is it this is the moment this is it this is it do it do it now_ in an endless loop. Yoosung swallows. One rose thorn is nothing, but maybe one day Zen could take the whole stem, maybe even a couple, and drag them down the skin of his arm or his shoulder or his back, he can even be more gentle about it if he wants to be, not too hard, just enough to sting—

“—Yoosung?”

“I’m okay with it.”

“Huh?” Zen looks confused. Oh, whoops. Yoosung must have missed part of the conversation.

“The thorns. I’m okay with them. I actually, uh, kind of…like them.” Yoosung has no idea what kind of face he’s making. There probably isn’t a face that says “Please hurt me; it’ll feel great!” is there? At the very least he looks like he’s asking for something, doesn’t he?

“Careful,” Zen says, smiling, “You got awfully close to sounding poetic there.” And he ushers Yoosung to start walking where the restaurants are, holding both bouquets in one hand and plucking the thorns off the one rose with the other.

_I don’t want to be careful_ , Yoosung thinks as he watches the thorns fall to the sidewalk. Each one looks like Yoosung’s complete. And utter. Failure.

“’I don’t mind the thorns,’” Zen parrots, seemingly delighted, “You’re so cute.”

Yoosung wants to scream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a lot more YooZen shippers here than I thought. So glad I'm not alone.
> 
> Anyways, today on things I never thought I'd have to google: "Do Korean restrooms have urinals?" ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Enjoy.

They end up settling on a corner café Yoosung has seen before but never been to. It’s all cherrywood and wrought-iron decorations and long, wall-to-wall windows. Everyone in there is dressed fancy in a way that corporate workers or rich people would think is casual: slacks and dress-shirts with collars, with the occasional person in a turtleneck. It’s cool but a little intimidating. Zen fits right in. Yoosung is glad he went with his gut and went all out today; he would have died of embarrassment if he were wearing his hoodie or a t-shirt right now.

Yoosung breaks out into a half-run so he can beat Zen to holding open the door, but Zen immediately outclasses him by pulling out Yoosung’s seat with a grand gesture after the waitress leads them to their little two-person table in the corner. The waitress looks baffled as Yoosung begrudgingly sits down and lets Zen slide him closer to the table, but Zen soon turns to her and butters her up with a model-perfect smile and a flattering word. She takes their drink order without comment and leaves looking dazed.

“ _I_ was supposed to be the dashing one this time,” Yoosung grumbles as Zen takes a seat, “Why are you ruining all my plans?”

“I just can’t help myself when I’m around you. Besides, with a face God spent so much time on I was born to be Prince Charming.”

Yoosung levels him with an unimpressed stare.

“You can’t steal my role that easily—what…what are you doing?”

Yoosung sticks his tongue out at Zen while typing on his phone. “Complaining about you.”

“Wha—hey!” Zen yelps. He drops the flowers on the table and scrambles for his own phone. By the time he logs on to the messenger Yoosung has already started spamming the chat with his crying emoji, “I can’t believe that you’re slandering me in front of the entire RFA while I’m sitting right here, do you have no mercy in your heart for your devastatingly beautiful boyfriend?”

Yoosung doubles his typing speed.

_Seven did that on purpose, right? That had to have been on purpose,_ Yoosung thought, _there’s no way that was an accident. Just. No way._ Yoosung stares at his phone. It’s the perfect opening and he’d reacted to it the way he always does, by gleefully going with it via the messenger, but…

Zen plucks the phone right out of Yoosung’s hands while he’s distracted with a victorious grin, “I think you’ve done enough damage in the chatrooms for one day.”

“Hey, give that back!” Yoosung reaches for his phone on autopilot.

Zen isn’t showing any reaction to the puppy thing, because of course he isn’t. it wasn’t obvious enough. The blush emoji probably just makes Zen think he likes…weird compliments or something. He’s got to spell it out in bigger letters. There’s got to be some way to turn the topic back to that somehow—

“No way,” Zen snorts—and how the hell does someone look attractive when snorting? — “You had _Jumin_ giving me love advice, there’s no way you’re getting this back right now.”

“It’s not like I called him there.” Yoosung huffs.

 _Come on, think, there’s got to be a way to bring it back up again, come_ on _._

“I didn’t see you trying to save me,” Zen raises his eyebrows, “and then the both of them jumped right into comparing you to pets. Tell me the truth, you can’t tell me you didn’t find it insulting.”

 _Oooooh wow,_ Yoosung thinks dizzily, _he did it himself. Holy shit. Now in person, go with it in person._

“It doesn’t bother me,” Yoosung says, feeling like he’s going to run out of air at any second.

Zen does his curious head-tilt. “Really?”

He’s going to make it completely clear this time. Obvious and impossible to ignore. Zen, after all, watches porn like any other average guy; he’s said so several times, so he’s got to have at least a limited awareness of some of the fringe stuff, right? Yoosung can’t remember what mainstream porn is like anymore, but…Yoosung takes a deep breath and tries to remember how speaking works.

“I’d like it a lot better if you were the one saying it,” Yoosung rushes, fighting with himself to keep holding eye contact with Zen, “It would…it would _affect_ me a lot more if it was you.”

“You…want me to call you a cat?”

Yoosung shakes his head, heart pounding. This is it, the moment of truth, Zen will either be grossed out or…or…

“A puppy, then?”

Yoosung nods.

Zen seems to roll the idea around in his head for a moment before coming to a decision. Then he leans forward in his seat and reaches across the table, running a finger along the edge of Yoosung’s bowtie. Yoosung’s every nerve is focused of the tip of that finger tracing his neck through the clothing, and the vivid image of Zen grabbing the bowtie in his fist pops into Yoosung’s mind. It’s too easy to imagine the feel of the fabric cutting into his throat.

“I can’t say I’ve never seen the resemblance,” Zen murmurs, “What a cute little puppy you are.”

A shiver rips its way through Yoosung and he feels himself beginning to salivate. It’s even better than he expected. He can’t help leaning into Zen’s hand a little. He knows he’s in a restaurant; they’re already pushing it, even being in a relatively secluded corner, but he _wants_. He wants so badly.

But then Zen is leaning back again and the hand draws away and Yoosung is left feeling cold and very, very confused.

“It’s an unusual endearment, but I think I like it!” Zen says brightly.

Endearment…

Endearment. The word rattles around in his brain like an ice cube in a blender. Endearment.

Zen thinks he just wanted a pet name.

Yoosung feels _robbed_ , but the waitress comes back before Yoosung can get too into feeling sorry for himself, bringing drinks and food to set on the table. Zen finally gives his phone back and Yoosung digs in to the food, listening to Zen gush about his newest role. His enthusiasm really is adorable, y’know, barring all those comments he makes praising his own appearance. Yoosung knows already; he is aware how attractive Zen is. All he has to do is look up from the plate to get a concentrated eyeful of gorgeous man; he doesn’t need the reminder.

“I’m getting a much better variety of roles these days. It’s so nice to finally be able to spread my wings a little—“

Yoosung’s pocket vibrates and he checks his phone discretely under the table. A text from Seven, asking how it went. ‘Awful T_T,’ He texts back. ‘How can he take everything weird I say and make it so normal??’

‘I’m telling you,’ Seven replies, ‘you need to say it straight out!’

Normally that would be an instant no, but at this point…

‘…you really think that would work?’

“—are you listening?” Zen taps his foot against Yoosung’s under the table, “You seem distracted today. My puppy’s going to make me sad if he keeps ignoring me.”

Yoosung flushes. If Zen keeps saying stuff like that in public Yoosung is going to have _a problem_.

“I’m fine!” The phone buzzes in Yoosung’s hand but he ignores it and stows it back in his pocket. He’ll continue that particular conversation later. He’s already accepted that his plan for today is doomed to failure. “I was just asking Seven something.”

“Asking him what? Don’t tell me he’s sending you on a wild goose chase again.”

“Uh, no,” Yoosung feels his face heat up again, “At least I hope not?”

A weird little frown appears on Zen’s face before it smooths out into concern. “Isn’t he always messing with you? You let your guard down too easily.”

“Don’t worry so much. He means well most of the time.”

The conversation lapses to more mundane topics like Yoosung’s studies, which he’s actually taking a bit more seriously these days, and Zen’s recent run-ins with paparazzi. News of a musical actor being a little gay wasn’t as riveting as, say, rumors about a certain corporate heir being gay, but it had generated just enough interest to be annoying in that first month when it went public. Now it’s only the occasional odd straggler down on their luck trying to scrape the bottom of the barrel for material.

“I’ve been spotting one lurking around the past week,” Zen says, flicking a hand towards the clothing he’s wearing, “That’s why I’m wearing this again…to make his life difficult. It makes the pictures harder to sell if it looks like it’s from the same day.”

Yoosung laughs. “That’s great! That would’ve been nice to know earlier.”

“I’ve been gathering tips from an actor colleague who works in film too, since he deals with this sort of thing often. Never hurts to be prepared, especially since I seem to be getting more popular lately.”

“Are they still getting on you to act in movies? Have they convinced you yet?” Yoosung perks up, grinning, “You’d get _really_ popular then."

“Hmmm, no, not yet. Not yet.”

“What are you waiting for anymore? I can tell you’re not as against it as you used to be.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for you?” Zen winks, taking Yoosung’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Are you sure you don’t want to be my manager?”

Yoosung groans and hides his face in his own shoulder. Being with Zen means getting on an express train to PDA-Town, and that effect of his personality wasn’t dampened at all by dating a guy. It’s embarrassing, but it still makes Yoosung giddy every time.

“Nooooooo,” Yoosung whines, “You know I’d be an awful manager!”

“Pretend I’m a LOLOL character or something. Act like it’s a quest.”

“That wouldn’t work at all.” Yoosung snorts.

“Can’t blame a man for having a dream, can you?” Zen sighs dramatically, “Imagine it: being on set together...I could see you on all my breaks. You’d know all my colleagues. No matter where or how long a shoot is, we’d never have to go long without seeing each other…”

 _Oh_ , Yoosung realizes, eyes wide, _that’s right. If he worked in film, he’d have to go on location, wherever they were filming. For weeks. Maybe months. Is that why he hasn’t gone for it yet?_ Yoosung’s heart clenches. Zen’s tried to play it off as lighthearted banter, but now that he’s trailed off the seriousness of the situation settles on them like a shroud, impossible to avoid. The Future looms in the distance, and Yoosung suddenly sees that he wasn’t the only one with ulterior motives behind this date. He stares quietly back at Zen, a knot in his throat, speechless. He knows Zen would forgo film altogether if Yoosung asks him to, and a part of him revels in that certainty, but he couldn’t. He could never—

“Um, excuse me?” The waitress says.

Yoosung jolts in his seat and the moment is broken.

“Would you two like refills on your drinks?” She says, staring at their linked hands. Yoosung can see her look away and then look right back. Away, then back. She can’t seem to help herself. Yoosung knows that if he comes back here, she’ll remember him.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Yoosung says as cheerfully as possible. He keeps his hand where it is.

“More hot tea would be great.” Zen turns the full force of his smile on her and from then on until she leaves again her eyes are fixed on Zen’s face. After she goes, Zen rubs his thumb up and down along Yoosung’s hand until he relaxes.

“Please think about it.” Zen says, returning to their conversation.

“You already know what my answer’s going to—“

“Please.”

Yoosung swallows. “…okay.”

Zen brings Yoosung’s hand up and drops a kiss on his wrist. “Thank you.”

Which is of course when the waitress comes back with the hot tea. Yoosung can see it all in slow-motion: the moment she realizes what’s happening in front of her, the little jump of shock in her shoulders that travels down her arms and unbalances the cup, the cup itself tipping sideways and falling, falling…right onto Yoosung’s free hand. Scalding water splashes the entire back of it, and at first it doesn’t even register as pain. But then it comes, as it always does, relentless and demanding, and Yoosung can still feel Zen’s lips on his wrist and the waitress’s eyes on them both, and the fire on the back of his hand tugs and pulses and grows—Yoosung can feel his eyelids drop to half-mast, a sound building in the back of his throat, and can do nothing to stop them.

“Yesssss,” The sound hisses softly from behind his teeth, the crowning jewel of a day filled with emotional and sexual whiplash.

He feels more than sees Zen lift his head, and suddenly reality comes crashing down on him at full speed.

“I’m so sorry!” The waitress frets, pulling napkins from a nearby empty table and rushing to dab at the spilled tea. “I’m really, truly sorry!”

Yoosung yanks his other hand away from Zen and covers his mouth. He can’t believe he just did that. Why did he do that? It was soft enough that the waitress might not have heard exactly what he said, but Zen _definitely_ did. He’d been too close not to. Yoosung risks a glance in his direction. Zen looks surprised, confused.

 _Of course he does,_ he thinks blankly to himself, _that was fucking weird, Yoosung._

He wants to backtrack, make excuses; he wants to drop all pretenses and come clean. Instead of doing either of these things, Yoosung sits frozen while Zen snaps back into motion and frets over Yoosung’s burned hand. Zen clicks his tongue and murmurs in sympathy and takes the glass of Yoosung’s drink and holds the cold surface of it to Yoosung’s reddening skin and Yoosung can’t handle it. It’s too much. Everything’s too much. He’s hit the end of what he can handle today. He’s done.

He stands up abruptly and the chair screeches across the floor. The waitress pauses, Zen stops talking, and condensation falls from the cold glass to hit the table.

“I’m, uh, gonna go to the restroom,” Yoosung says, already turning away, “It’ll be better if I put it under running water.”

Yoosung escapes before Zen can say anything in reply and slips into the restroom. It’s small, two stalls, a urinal, a sink. No one else is in there. It smells like industrial cleaner. Yoosung turns the faucet and puts his hand under. The pain eases. The burn is large, but not severe. It’s not a big deal. None of this should have been a big deal.

Yoosung groans and sinks into a crouch, making sure to keep his arm up so the water can run over his hand. This is the worst. He’s been acting weird all day, Zen’s noticed, and to top it all off now he’s half-hard and it _won’t go down_. He’s pretty sure the date is unsalvageable at this point. He should just say he doesn’t feel well and leave. No, but then Zen would definitely want to walk him home…

Yoosung shakes his head and accidentally knocks it against the bottom of the sink. It doesn’t help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat images made from zentherainbowunicorn's photoshop template. Thank yooooooou, making those was 90% less agonizing because of your efforts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops looks like i miscalculated, gonna be one more chapter after this haha whoops sorry guys

Yoosung rubs at the bump on his head and pulls his hand from the sink. The insistent pain of a fresh burn is gone, but it still hurts. When he flexes his hand the whole back of it throbs at once. It’ll be fine if he doesn’t mess with it but…he really, really wants to mess with it. He sticks his hand back in the sink, pulls his phone out, and dials Seven instead.

“Did you tell him???” Seven asks immediately, voice packed with maximum excitement.

“Noooooooo.” Yoosung moans. He then fills Seven in on the whole tea incident. It sounds even worse when he tries to explain it because there just isn’t a good way to say ‘the waitress spilled boiling water on me and it got me hot,’ but Yoosung gives it his best shot.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” Seven interrupts, “So where are you right now?”

“The bathroom.” Yoosung mumbles.

“And Zen is…?”

“At…the table? Probably?”

“Right, right,” Seven shuffles around, “And how long have you been in there now?”

“I dunno. Five, maybe six minutes? Why?”

“Oh, nothing~”

Yoosung swears he hears a muffled snicker from across the line, but honestly he has bigger problems than Seven taking joy from his misery right now.

“Stop making fun of me and tell me what to dooooooooo.”

“Can’t you just go back out there and wrap things up?”

Yoosung’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “Wrap things up?”

“Yeah! March back out there and finish your little lovey-dovey date and then take him back to your place and then tell him all about the things you imagine him doing to you—“

“No! Nuh-uh, no, no no—“

“Oooooooor, you could march back out there, smile all cute and say you really had a great time and all but you’re tired and—“

“No, no, no, no—“

“Still no?!” Seven says, shocked, “I even gave you an escape route option this time!”

“…I can’t go out there yet.” Yoosung knows that Seven can’t see his face flush red but regrets it happening regardless. It shows up in his voice; he knows it does.

 “Can’t go out…yet…?” Seven says, thinking out loud, “Wait…are you…O.M.G.”

Yoosung regrets everything.

“Are you calling me with a boner????”

“Shut uuuuuuuup.” His free hand is still under the faucet so Yoosung hides his face in his shoulder and squirms. He’s still crouched on the bathroom floor of a restaurant, but he feels like a stripped wire exposed to the elements: fragile and sensitive and about one wrong move away from snapping. It’s awful.

Seven’s booming laughter rings in his ear for a solid minute before he calms down enough to dispense his saintly advice, “aHAHA, ha—well—haha—you know there’s a super secret easy way to take care of that, right?”

“There is?” Yoosung perks up hopefully, “What? What is it?”

“Hmmm, well first stand up. Are you standing up?”

Yoosung scrabbles upwards. “Yeah! Now what?”

“Put your feet shoulder-width apart—“

Yoosung spreads his feet. “Got it.”

“Put one hand up in the air, reaaaaally high, higher, higher!”

Yoosung is now almost on his tippy-toes trying to reach up to the ceiling with his burned hand. Water’s dribbling down his wrist. He feels sort of like an elementary schooler trying to get picked on to ask a question. “I think this is as high as I can go…”

“Excellent! Now jump!”

“Huh?”

“JUMP!!!!”

Yoosung does a hesitant little hop and winces. “Um...are you sure that this is—“

“Keep jumping! Keep jumping! Go, go, go! There isn’t much time left!!!”

Yoosung hops up and down, pulling a face the whole time. “Um, ow, uh, Se-Saeyoung, this is really uncomfortable!”

“mmmffftttHAHAHAHAHAHA, o-oh my god, hahahaha, you actually did it; I can’t believe you actually did it! H-how are you so cute???”

Yoosung stops in his tracks, almost dropping his phone.

“I-I can’t believe you thought that would w-work, hahaHAHA, oh wow.” Seven takes a couple deeper breaths and his hysterics start to taper off. Yoosung bets he’s wiping gleeful tears from his eyes under his glasses. “Haha…I wasn’t kidding about the time limit though.”

“Saeyoung!” Yoosung blurts, mortified. He’s going to crawl into a bathroom stall and never come out again. Actually, no, he’s going to go to Seven’s place and _break all of his action figures_. “A-and what do you mean time limit? Time limit for what?”

“Well, you’ve been in there for quite a while now. Zen must be getting worried.”

“Well, yeah, probably…” Yoosung’s stomach sinks a little with guilt at the reminder.

“And you do know you’re in the men’s restroom? He can just walk in whenever.”

“Ah!!!”

“You just realized that now?” Seven’s grin is audible. “You might have enough time to take care of it if you’re fast. You’re pent up anyway, right?”

“What do you mean ‘take care of it,’ your jumping thing was just a stupid prank,” Yoosung mutters bitterly.

“Yoosung, you’ve got at least one good hand left and I know you know how to use it~”

“Wha—here?? No!”

“Hm? Not an exhibitionist? But isn’t the threat of being caught supposed to be thrilling? I could’ve sworn I saw a couple videos on your computer with that theme—“

“Saeyoung…”

“—so if you just picture yourself there instead, you know, you’re frantically trying to finish, but before you can, Zen walks in and sees you with your hand down your—“

“Saeyoung!” Yoosung wails, “You’re not helping!”

The door opens.

“Yoosung?” Zen asks.

Yoosung’s face drains of all color so fast he feels dizzy. He didn’t see this coming. Why didn’t he see this coming? Zen’s standing right there. Oh god oh god oh god oh god…

“Zen!” Yoosung squeaks.

“Oops, I think that’s my cue! Bye-bye, Yoosung! Good luck!” Seven ends the call and all Yoosung can hear from the phone now is the silent sound of abandonment. Yoosung stows his phone away, trying to buy some time to compose himself a little before turning to face Zen.

Zen doesn’t say anything at first, instead studying Yoosung with a complicated look on his face before taking a couple steps forward. He gently grabs Yoosung’s wrist so he can tow it closer and examine the injured hand. It really does look a lot better, a faded pink now instead of the blotchiness of before, but Zen’s complicated expression doesn’t fade. Did he…did he notice? Did he not notice? Yoosung feels like he’s going to get a headache from the suspense.

“If you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles someday. What’ll your fans think?” Yoosung forces a nervous laugh, desperate to start some kind of innocuous conversation. Maybe if he’s lucky, Zen won’t have noticed and they can leave and this trainwreck date can end and Yoosung can go home, log onto LOLOL, and pretend none of this ever happened.

But when Zen smiles back it’s a sad, distracted little thing, nothing like his usual picture-perfect grins, and Yoosung is seized by an incredible feeling of wrongness. Zen shouldn’t have that tension around his eyes or that worry weighing down the corners of his mouth. This isn’t Zen’s usual mother-henning; this is a Serious Issues face. Yoosung flips through the past fifteen minutes trying to find what he did wrong with little success, because honestly, what didn’t he do wrong? He’s made a lot of bad choices in the past fifteen minutes.

“…Zen?”

Zen shakes his head, takes a breath, and gives a more sincere smile.

“Your head’s been in the clouds today,” Zen says, teasing back, “You know if your thoughts aren’t on me I’ll get jealous.”

“I’m always thinking about you.” Yoosung can’t help but laugh when he says it. If only he knew…

“Even today?”

“ _Especially_ today,” Yoosung says.

This seems to make Zen simultaneously happy and sad, and Yoosung can’t figure out why.

“What about these past few weeks?” Zen prods. When Yoosung just blinks dumbly at him, he presses on, “You’ve been talking to Saeyoung a lot recently.”

It suddenly occurs to him that Zen had found him in the bathroom talking to Seven with a possibly visible hard-on. Panic claws up his spine. “I—wait, you don’t think that me and him are—“

“No, no,” Zen snickers, dismissing that out of hand, “I already know you think I’m the prettiest.”

Yoosung is torn between sighing in relief and kicking him in the shin.

“I know you love me, I do, but…” Zen absently tightens his grip on Yoosung’s wrist which he still hasn’t let go of yet, “…maybe you don’t think it’s worth it anymore.”

“Uh, wha…?” Yoosung can literally think of no other words to say.

“You keep asking him for advice, you’re only half-here when we’re together, you seek my attention and then avoid me…you keep looking at me like you have something to say, but you can never seem to get it out. You’re nervous,” As Zen keeps talking his levity falls away and he becomes more and more distraught, words falling out of his mouth like he can’t control them anymore, “Every time I bring up the future you’re uncomfortable. You look away, like you’re doing right now, and the only thing I can think is that…is that you don’t want any of the futures I can give you.”

Yoosung’s eyes dart back to Zen’s face, shock wiping every word Yoosung knows from his vocabulary. All he can do is stare. Zen takes one more step forward and tugs on Yoosung’s wrist until they’re only a whisper apart, then closes the remaining distance by leaning forward until Yoosung’s field of vision is taken over completely by Zen’s imploring face.

“If you don’t want to be my manager that’s fine. I’ll stay if you want me to stay, or if I go into film and we only see each other half the time then when I’m here I’ll love you twice, no, three times as much.” Zen says adamantly, eyes never wavering, “Whatever you want, Yoosung, I’ll find a way to give it to you. Anything, just please…”

 _I’m an idiot_ , Yoosung thinks as all the pieces fall into place, _This is why he’s been smoking again, isn’t it? No wonder he didn’t notice anything weird._ Yoosung’s eyes water and his throat tightens in sympathy. _But how could he think—_

Zen sees Yoosung’s eyes tear up and assumes the worst, pulling back with a heartbroken expression.

“Zen, no,” Yoosung chokes out. He pulls Zen forward and keeps pulling until Yoosung can put his arms around his shoulders. Zen stays stiff for only a moment before he buries his head in Yoosung’s neck and fists his hands onto the back of Yoosung’s shirt, so tight that they tremble. Yoosung moves his unburned hand to the back of Zen’s head and lets his fingers dig into his hair. He turns his face towards Zen’s until his nose bumps up against Zen’s ear and says, “You’re crazy if you think I’d let you go like that. I’ve finally found someone to love and you think I’ll just give up? Never.”

Zen’s arms tighten around him and the two of them spend a minute or two anchoring themselves in each other, then Zen laughs roughly into Yoosung’s collarbone, shoulders sagging in relief, “I was planning on stepping up and wooing you back with my manly charm, but I surrender. You beat me this time.”

Yoosung grins, “It has to happen every once in a while, right?”

Zen gives him another squeeze and drops a kiss on his neck before he pulls back, grabbing onto Yoosung’s upper arms and peering into his still-glossy eyes. It’s so not fair that Zen isn’t even a little teary, that jerk…Yoosung knows that Zen was at least as emotional just then as he had been, if not more, but there’s no lasting sign of it, unlike Yoosung’s red-rimmed eyes.

“So,” Zen says, curiosity pouring off of him, “If that wasn’t what you’ve been uncertain about, then what have you been so afraid to tell me all this time?”

Yoosung freezes. “Uh.”

Zen’s eyebrows fly up. “You can’t keep putting me in suspense after _that_ reaction.”

“Can’t we just talk about it later…?”

Zen doesn’t budge. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

Yoosung takes a deep breath and sighs it all out in one burst. “I don’t know.” Anxiety prickles at him again, especially with Zen’s gaze trained on him like a spotlight, but Yoosung’s tired. So, so tired. And he’s tried everything else. There’s nothing else left to try. “It’s a lot different than the things you were worried about. I feel kind of stupid now, actually.”

“Tell me,” Zen urges.

“Well, I-I, uh…” Yoosung stutters, then falls silent, “…when…when you said ‘anything,’ did you mean it?”

“Of course.” Zen answers with no hesitation.

“Even, um, w-what about…sex…stuff…” Oh wow, he’s barely even said anything and Yoosung already wants to dive out the nearest window.

Zen, on the other hand, looks somewhere in-between shocked and intrigued. “I didn’t know _this_ was the kind of discussion we were going to be having.” Zen says, amused.

“I told you I wanted to talk about it somewhere else,” Yoosung complains, turning his face away in embarrassment.

“Come on, darling,” Zen says, lifting a hand to turn Yoosung’s face back toward him, “Look at me. You can tell me.”

“I…I’m…”

 _Actually_ , Yoosung thinks, _I don’t know if I can. But maybe…_

Yoosung takes Zen’s hand from where it’s resting on the side of Yoosung’s face, curls the fingers, and sets it on top of his own, burned hand so that Zen’s nails press into the edge of the patch of irritated skin. “Scratch me.”

“What?” Zen says, alarmed, “No, why would—“

“Do it.” Yoosung says. Something in the way he says it cuts Zen short effortlessly. “And…and make sure you watch me, okay?”

Zen clearly struggles with it, but he nods. At first the pressure is too light to even register, but Zen presses his lips together and digs his nails in a little harder as he drags them slowly across the back of Yoosung’s hand. Then harder, and harder, until his nails leave white lines in their wake, and Yoosung can’t contain his gasp, or the way his irises expand, or the way he sways into Zen’s space like he’s looking for more. Zen lifts his nails away out of concern the moment he hears Yoosung gasp, but when he sees Yoosung’s face, the way he’s breathing harder, the way his mouth is left just a little bit open, realization finally dawns.

Success. Finally. Yoosung feels victorious; Yoosung feels sick. He takes a breath, then another one, and he waits for judgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, uh, are you guys gonna want porn or...?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was gonna be 2000 words but then it ballooned into 5000. I contemplated splitting it, but I didn't have the heart to make you guys wait for the porn when I teased it already so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Yoosung tries to rein himself in, tries to quiet his breathing so it doesn’t echo off the bathroom tile back at him like an accusation. He’s see-sawing between relief and dread right now and it makes him feel like that one time he made the mistake of pigging out right before going on the spinny ride at the amusement park: dizzy, queasy, disoriented.

“You…” Zen stares, “You like that?”

Yoosung nods too stiffly but his nervousness is making all of his movements sharp and jerky. He can’t get a read on what Zen is thinking at all.

“I...I didn’t know that you were…”

A half-laugh bursts out of Yoosung before he can help it. “T-that’s why I was trying to find a way to tell you! But I didn’t end up being brave enough to say it.”

“So this whole time, this whole day you’ve been…”

“--trying to hint it to you, yeah. Heh. I guess I wasn’t very good at it.”

“You don’t mind the thorns,” Zen echoes, stunned.

They fall silent, staring at each other until Yoosung can’t take it anymore. He’s desperate for a reaction from Zen, _any_ reaction. He leans up into Zen’s face trying to provoke it, “I...A-are you that surprised? I joke around about it on the messenger...You’ve even teased me about looking up weird things on the internet, haven’t you?!”

“Yes,” Zen sputters, “But they were just jokes! Everyone looks up those things out of curiosity once or twice. I didn’t think it was _real_.”

Yoosung leans back again, “S-so what, did you think Saeyoung’s crossdressing was only a joke too? Just because we joke about it doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

“But why would you—“

Yoosung shrugs helplessly. “It’s just easier that way.”

Nothing. Nothing. Still no real reaction. Just this weird, neutral, noncommittal surprise. Yoosung can’t take this, he really can’t; the nervous energy he’s been bottling up is beginning to make him shake. He tries to tamp it down but it doesn’t work, and the frustration prickles at his eyes. God, close to tears twice in one day. Can’t this day just be over?

Zen’s eyes widen and he reaches a hand out, “Yoosung—”

But then the phone rings, shattering the tension like glass.

“Answer it,” Yoosung says, putting his hands over his reddening face.

“But—“

“ _Answer_ it.”

Zen takes a step back and fishes his phone out, diving into what sounds like serious work-related conversation. There’s a minute or so of back-and-forth shoptalk, and then Zen yelps, “What, now?!” Zen casts Yoosung a glance and turns his attention back to the call. “Can’t we do this another time? I’d be happy to go first thing tomorrow...no? Haaaah, well I guess if that’s true than I have no choice…I’ll have to use the metro so give me some time...right, right, yes, as soon as possible. Goodbye.”

Zen hangs up, stows his phone, and hesitates.

“You need to go right?” Yoosung says from beneath his hands, “You should go.”

He wants to be strong. He wants to calm down and stop freaking out and send Zen out with—well, maybe not a smile, but with maturity or good grace or _something_ —but he can’t keep the tears from welling up or his lip from trembling so his hands are staying right over his face, thank you. But his nose is a dirty traitor because it’s starting to run and Yoosung sniffs by reflex and of course that freaks Zen out instantly. Zen’s immediately back in Yoosung’s space, hands flitting over Yoosung’s arms, his shoulders, his hair, the sides of his face. “Come on, darling,” Zen coaxes, pulling at Yoosung’s wrists, “Don’t hide your face from me. Look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Yoosung can’t deny that a part of him is drinking up the attention, but he’s not moving his hands. He refuses. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine!”

“Yoosung…”

Yoosung refuses to budge so Zen brushes his fingers through Yoosung’s hair and presses a kiss to his temple. “You should talk to me, Yoosung.”

“Tomorrow,” Yoosung says, forcing the words through his closing throat, “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? If you don’t leave now you’ll be late.”

“Let me at least walk you back,” Zen frets.

Yoosung shakes his head, sniffing again, “No, I don’t wanna leave yet...I need few minutes. I’ll calm down. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Zen wavers, clearly loathe to leave him like this. Even before Zen had loved him, Yoosung recalls fondly, he’d always been a little weak to his tears, no matter how much he’d grumbled about it. The memory manages to wring a wobbly smile out of him. He finally drops his hands, rubs the tears from his face with the cuff of his shirt sleeve, and looks Zen in the eyes.

“Really,” Yoosung repeats, “I’ll be okay. Go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Zen says, “Okay.”

Zen cradles Yoosung’s face in his hands and lands a tender, lingering kiss on Yoosung’s lips, the kind of kiss that makes his chest ache, and then Zen steps back. It’s stupid, but Yoosung feels like he misses him already, even though he hasn’t even left yet, but he knows he needs the time to pull himself back together.

“See you soon,” Zen says, and then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 Zen pours his entire attention into the last-minute meeting with the director and scriptwriter. It’s a good distraction. Thoughts of Yoosung weigh heavy on his mind, but Zen has spent years perfecting his focus for his job no matter what difficulty has been thrown his way, so it’s easier than it should be to shove his tumult to the sidelines for a couple hours. But after, when everything has been squared away and he’s walking out the door, he has nothing left to keep it at bay. He doesn’t know how he feels. He doesn’t understand what he should do. He never knew that this could even be a _problem_.  

His phone rings again the moment he leaves the building with the name Jumin Han emblazoned on the caller ID. Zen rolls his eyes and puts his phone back. The last thing he wants to do is talk to that jerk with all the things he needs to think about, but when he lets it go to voicemail all that happens is Jumin fucking Han calling him again. And again. And again.

Zen gives in and answers with a sigh as he walks toward the metro station. “What do you want. I keep telling you I won’t do any more cat commercials; that was the last one, okay?”

“I heard you and Yoosung were having some trouble.” Jumin gets straight to the point as always, but he sounds leisurely, like he’s leaning back with his cat and a glass of wine and Zen already knows this conversation is going to go downhill fast.

“I am not talking about this with you.”

“Do you want to break up with him?”

Zen nearly chokes on his spit. “ _What_ , no! Of course not!”

“So you’re staying with him then.”

“Yes, God, I don’t know why you’d even say something like that—”

“So,” Jumin cuts in, impatient, “What’s the harm in giving him what he wants?”

Zen chokes for real this time and after coughing inelegantly, he snaps, “How much do you know??”

“A tall, red-headed maid told me everything after trying to steal my Elizabeth for the second time this week,” Jumin says dryly, “I don’t know why he thought that disguise would work when I’ve seen it already. I suspect he was planning to get caught.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter how much you know. I still don’t want advice from you.”

“Do you hate the idea of it?” Jumin continues, ignoring him, “Of giving him what he wants?”

“I…”

And once again Zen is forced to think about exactly what that means, the reality of what Yoosung wants, and what Zen would have to do to give it to him. Zen’s emotions are a tangled knot in his stomach.

“If you have such strong reservations then put him out of his misery. I’m sure there are other people out there that can satisfy him. It might take a while, but he’ll get over you eventually.”

Zen stops stock still in the middle of the sidewalk. “No! Not happening. _Never_.”

“So explain this to me,” Jumin says, growing irritated, “You don’t want to leave. You’re clearly not disgusted with him. Why are you being so difficult?”

“Someone like you wouldn’t get it,” Zen grouses, resuming his walk, “It’s...it’s supposed to be an expression of love, how can I _hurt_ him?”

Jumin pauses then hums, amused. “I see. Aren’t there many ways to show love? I thought giving your lover whatever they desired was considered romantic, but I’m not the self-proclaimed _expert_.”

Zen scowls. “Shut up.”

“You’re the one forcing my hand. I’ve said this before and I’ll repeat it now: I have no interest in being a matchmaker. So let’s end this before it gets tedious. What else is holding you back?”

Zen walks in silence, struggling to pull the right words. Eventually, he finds them. “I’ve never thought of people like that actually existing,” Zen admits, “Some of the guys I was friends with years ago had the occasional magazine with girls tied up or gagged but I was never interested. And I’d never met a guy that was interested in that for himself...It...it just isn’t…”

“Normal?” Jumin says, sounding bored, “You ran away from your family in middle school to pursue a career in musical theatre, since when have you been concerned with normal?”

“Yeah,” Zen murmurs, hand tightening on his phone, “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Jumin says.

Then Jumin hangs up on him.

“Haaah, bastard didn’t even say goodbye,” Zen complains, but when he puts his phone away he’s almost smiling.

He squares his shoulders and walks with new determination, shedding his uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

 Yoosung sits at his desk staring at his computer screen with a lot less interest than usual. He’s off his game. It’s abysmal. But if he doesn’t do this he’s going to dwell on everything that’s happened and that’s a surefire way to land himself back on the Panic Train. Even like this the thoughts swirl around his brain in a never-ending spiral.

His room smells like roses. When he’d finally settled down enough to leave the bathroom the waitress had given him the forgotten bouquets and now he has a full dozen roses on his shelf to remind him of exactly how much of a disaster he is. After he’d rushed home he’d called Seven and told him everything that had happened in an unstoppable torrent of words until Yoosung had dried up of things to say. Seven had gone all quiet like he sometimes does when he gets serious and then he reassured him that everything would work itself out. It made Yoosung feel a little bit better even if he hadn’t quite been convinced.

But now what?

He needs to sort through it all tonight, he knows he does. He and Zen are going to have a heart-to-heart tomorrow and he needs to be prepared. He needs to let Zen know not to worry about it, that he’s not expecting anything even if, well, even if he really wants something.

Yoosung’s hand throbs when he moves the mouse too fast. It makes him think of Zen’s nails on his skin. It also reminds him of when he’d banged up his hand that one time...and that one girl in class last year that, for a split-second, looked at him like he was a freak. If it comes down to it Yoosung thinks he could survive anything except Zen looking at him like that.

“Everything will be okay,” Yoosung says, scrubbing a hand over his face, “Everything’s fine!”

“What?” A guildmate asks.

“Huh?” Oh yeah, he’s wearing a headset right now, whoops. “Uh, nothing. I’m just talking to myself.”

He’s gotta get back in the game; his teammates are counting on him to help them through this dungeon. He’s got to concentrate, concentrate…

Someone knocks at the door.

Yoosung jolts backwards and accidentally yanks the headphone jack right out of the computer. The speakers start blaring music and dying monster sounds. “Ack! Um, hold on I’ll be right there!” Yoosung scrambles for the headphone jack and jams it back in. “Uh, hey guys I’m gonna have to go afk for a sec.” He mutes the mic and goes to the door. He’s not expecting anyone and he hasn’t been too loud so he can’t imagine why…

He opens the door and freezes.

“Yoosung,” Zen says, “Can I come in?”

“Zen! I-I, uh, weren’t we going to talk tomorrow?” Yoosung stutters.

Zen chuckles, abashed, “Well, I couldn’t bring myself to wait that long.”

Yoosung shuffles back so Zen can enter the room and take his shoes off, increasingly conscious of the fact that he’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt and sweats as opposed to Zen’s still perfectly arranged attire. It’s nothing Zen hasn’t seen before, but Yoosung’s already felt enough like a trainwreck today that this isn’t helping.

“You’re looking better,” Zen says, brushing the skin under Yoosung’s eye, “It’s a good thing you don’t stay puffy too long.”

“Is that why you never cry?” Yoosung half-smiles.

“I’ve got to make sure my face is always at its best, after all,” Zen winks, “But I like that you don’t hide anything.”

“More like I _can’t_ hide anything.”

“I’m glad,” Zen replies, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to hide this from me.”

Yoosung’s mouth twists. “Don’t worry about that, okay? Eventually you would’ve noticed me acting strange...I just wanted to tell you so you’d know. You don’t have to do anything, it’s—”

“I want to.”

“You, wha…?!” Yoosung gapes, “No, no, no, you don’t have to force yourself for me! I know you’re not into it. I know it’s weird. I’ll—”

Zen closes in on him and takes his unburned hand in both of his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the tip of each of Yoosung’s fingers. “Yoosung, I love you.”

Yoosung stops in his tracks, feeling half-hypnotized. “I know.”

Zen kisses his wrist. “I want to do this.”

“O-okay.”

Zen kisses the inside of his elbow. “I’m not forcing myself.”

“...okay.”

Zen kisses the corner of his mouth beseechingly. “Believe me?”

“I do.” Yoosung feels like he’s going to go up in flames from the indescribable kick of happiness he feels in this moment, so he fists his hands into the front of Zen’s turtleneck and hauls him into a real kiss, licking the seam of Zen’s lips as he pulls away, “Of course I do.”

“Good.” Zen dives in for another kiss, putting his hands on Yoosung’s hips and urging him backwards until the back of his knees hits the edge of his own bed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Zen murmurs, breaking the kiss, but keeping his lips close enough to brush Yoosung’s with every word, “What do I do if something’s too much for you?”

Yoosung almost wants to laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m worried it’ll be too much for _you_.”

“Yoosung…”

“I’ll tell you if it’s too much, if you promise to tell me,” Yoosung says. Then his voice drops into a whisper, “But even if I don’t say anything you’ll know. I’m really obvious about the things I like.”

Zen’s eyes darken and he runs both his hands up Yoosung’s sides, sliding under his shirt until he can draw his thumbs across Yoosung’s ribs, “Teach me. Tell me what you like.”

“Please…” Yoosung swallows, “Could you...grab my hair?”

Zen retrieves a hand from Yoosung’s shirt and clamps it into the hair at the base of Yoosung’s skull, harsh and unyielding, then yanks it. Yoosung gasps, forced to lean back. He has to support himself on Zen’s arm that’s now wrapped around his waist in order to stay upright. Tension pulls his spine taut. It’s _perfect_.

Zen runs his teeth along the column of his neck, and Yoosung shivers. Zen moves up inch by slow inch until his mouth finds Yoosung’s ear and then he bites hard into the outer edge. Yoosung whines, squirming fruitlessly. Zen’s left hand bracing him is warm against his skin and Yoosung can barely move and when Zen pulls away just the tiniest bit to speak Yoosung can feel his breath wash against the shell of his ear just over the insistent throb of the bite. The moment hardly feels real.

“What else?” Zen presses his mouth to Yoosung’s ear again and tongues at the bite mark. It stings and Yoosung can barely think. He wants _everything_. But no. He has to...they have to start small. Right?

“How about...pushing me around?”

When Zen lets go of his hair Yoosung’s head lolls, suddenly unanchored, but he has no time to feel disoriented. Zen immediately grabs him by the forearm and throws him to his knees on the ground with zero visible effort. Yoosung has to catch himself with his hands to prevent from falling over sideways into his bookshelf. When he looks up Zen is watching him carefully.

“I’m okay,” Yoosung reassures breathily, “Keep going.”

Zen lifts his foot, sets it right under Yoosung’s collarbone, and shoves. Yoosung falls flat on his back, and Zen follows through with his leg to keep him pinned to the floor. _Maybe next time I can get him to do this with his shoes on,_ Yoosung thinks, dazed. But even like this the pressure against his sternum is strong, commanding.

Zen rakes his gaze over Yoosung, from his curling toes up to his quivering legs and heaving chest, and finally on Yoosung’s own blown out eyes. Yoosung expects some kind of hesitation or distance in Zen’s expression, but all he can see is appreciation. He sees Zen’s throat bob and his lips part and It makes the fire in Yoosung’s stomach burn even hotter.

Zen presses down harder on Yoosung’s chest and then reaches behind him to grab the back of the collar of his turtleneck, dragging it over his head slowly to first reveal the strip of skin around his hipbones, then his abs, then his pecs, then his arms, until finally it’s off entirely. He tosses it aside. Every part of him looks sculpted from the palest marble. Every minute of time he spends at the gym shows in every line of his body, from his elegant neck to his muscled arms and chiseled stomach. Yoosung wants to touch but he can’t reach that far. The best he can do is curve a hand around the back of Zen’s calf and stare up at him covetously.

“Zen…”

Zen eases his weight from Yoosung and slides his foot down to the middle of Yoosung’s chest then lower, skirting around the bulge in Yoosung’s sweats, running his toes along his inner thigh. Yoosung’s mind blanks into a blissful haze and his hips buck.

“Be patient,” Zen chides, voice low, “Show me you can be a good puppy.”

“I’ll be good, I’ll be good,”  Yoosung babbles, holding his hips still, “I’ll be good for you, so good.”

Zen trails his toes up again and Yoosung forces himself to lie slack on the floor. “Good boy,” Zen praises, then he grinds his heel over Yoosung’s dick.

“Ahh…!!” Yoosung’s knees jerk up and his fingers scrabble at the hard floor. “S-sorry, sorry, I moved, I’m sorry—”

“Shhhh,” Zen hushes lovingly, “You’ll do better next time, won’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll do better, I—”

Zen grinds his heel in again and Yoosung pants, trembling with the effort of keeping still. “Zen, Zen, please…”

“Tell me what you want, Yoosung.”

“More,” Yoosung chokes out, “Please…”

“Then,” Zen says, taking his foot away and moving back. The loss is tortuous, “Beg me like a dog would.”

Yoosung scrambles to get to his knees so fast he wobbles with lightheadedness. He goes over on all fours to where Zen is and sits on his haunches, whining. When Zen doesn’t respond, he lays his cheek against Zen’s leg and whines again, longer this time, gazing up with imploring eyes. Zen runs a hand through Yoosung’s hair a couple times, encouraging, but otherwise doesn’t react.

He needs to be more direct then.

Yoosung gets up to his knees again, grabs at the waistband of Zen’s slacks for balance, and licks a long, languorous stripe up Zen’s own hardness through the material. He hears Zen’s quick intake of breath and decides to do it again, then again, going faster and pressing harder with his tongue with each shake in Zen’s breathing. He wants Zen to feel good; he wants to please him; he wants him to be as out of his mind as Yoosung feels right now; he wants Zen to desire him so much it hurts; he wants, he wants, he wants. He licks until fabric is soaking and his mouth tingles with the friction, but it’s still not enough. He moves his hands from Zen’s waistband to grasp at Zen’s thighs so he can push his face harder against him, desperate.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zen utters, wrecked, and that’s the only warning Yoosung gets before Zen hauls him up by his arm and throws him to the bed. “Get these off,” Zen demands, standing by the bed and already tugging Yoosung’s shirt over his head. Yoosung rushes to squirm out of his sweatpants and underwear, kicking them off to the side. “If you want anything else from me, Yoosung,” Zen says, wiping spit away from Yoosung’s lower lip with his thumb, “You should tell me now.”

Yoosung takes the hand resting on his lips and pulls it flat. “Slap me?”

Zen pauses staring at his own hand. He takes a deep breath, then nods. “Okay. Okay.”

Yoosung props himself up on his elbows and makes himself emerge half-way from his haze. He shakes his head fuzzily, “You don’t have to. If you don’t like it you don’t have to.”

“I just…” Zen shakes his head, “I don’t think I can do the face.”

“That’s fine,” Yoosung soothes, reaching up with both arms and pulling Zen down for a deep kiss, “Anywhere else is more than enough.” He licks up Zen’s jaw. “I already feel so good. You make me feel so good, Zen.”

Zen growls, sinking his teeth into Yoosung’s neck, and Yoosung lets himself fall completely back into his blissful haze, a moan building in his throat. Zen holds the bite for a moment while he caresses the back of Yoosung’s neck, and then lets go. He flips Yoosung over onto his stomach and slides him until his feet touch the floor, so that Yoosung’s leaning over the bed instead of lying on it, and then lays a hand down lightly on the small of Yoosung’s back. Yoosung keeps still, hardly breathing in anticipation.

The first slap against his ass barely stings, only making him jolt out of surprise, but the second strike is harder and makes a better sound. By the fourth and fifth, Zen’s strikes are far more confident, and by the tenth, Yoosung is crying out at each one, pain layering over pain, the bright sharp sting mixing with a growing heavy throb in a way that makes tears mist over his eyes. He’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life, and with every strike, his body slides a little against the bed, rubbing his dick against the mattress. He wants more friction but he knows Zen wants him to be still so he claws at the sheets instead, his cries getting wilder and more frenzied. He could come just like this. He knows he could.

Which is when Zen stops.

Yoosung slumps bonelessly, almost slipping off the bed until Zen catches him and lays him on it fully. He hears Zen opening a drawer and already knows what he’s getting before the bottle lands by his head. Zen smoothes a hand down the length of his spine.

“Do you want to keep going?”

“If you stop I’ll kill you,” Yoosung groans, face muffled in the sheets.

Zen slaps his ass again and Yoosung yelps. “I need to train my puppy better, don’t I?”

“S-sorry.” Yoosung gasps.

“Good boy,” Zen praises, shedding his slacks and climbing onto the bed. He arranges Yoosung so that his legs are folded under himself and his ass is in the air, “Keep being patient for me.”

Yoosung hears the snap of the bottle’s cap opening and knows that Zen is slicking his fingers with lube. He braces himself and doesn’t flinch when Zen slides two fingers in right away. He masturbates with way too many toys at this point for that to phase him. Zen works his fingers in and out methodically and slips a third one in, twisting, occasionally pausing to trace the rim with his knuckles on the way out.  Hot pressure builds again in Yoosung’s stomach, and he hums into the sheets, flexing his thighs. Zen nips at his throbbing ass and Yoosung’s cock jumps.

“Ah-ah,” Zen scolds, squeezing a ring around the base of Yoosung’s dick with his free hand. He brushes a kiss against Yoosung’s back when he whines in protest, “Not yet, darling.”

Yoosung’s breathing is getting labored, sweat beginning to drip. Zen slips a fourth in for good measure and Yoosung just barely holds himself back from screaming out of frustration. “Please, please, p-please, please,” Yoosung chants, “Please, come on, hurry, please—”

Zen’s fingers leave. “Your wish is my command,” Zen says.

Yoosung hears him slicking up his dick and then he feels it at his entrance, pushing in. Zen releases Yoosung’s cock and takes a hold of his hips instead, and Yoosung exhales deeply, shaking as Zen bottoms out in him. Zen braces an arm by Yoosung’s head and leans over him to kiss the back of his neck and then starts moving, shallowly at first then with more and more force until Yoosung’s jostled  by each thrust. It’s less careful than usual, harder to move his own hips to, but every time Zen moves it aggravates the soreness of Yoosung’s ass, the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Haaah, Zen!” Yoosung moans, arousal coiling tighter and tighter, “I-I...please, I n-need—”

“What,” Zen breathes roughly into his ear, “Tell me.”

Yoosung wordlessly reaches back and takes Zen’s hand from his hip, moving it to his neck instead. Zen’s rhythm stumbles, but he recovers and tightens his fingers around Yoosung’s throat. It’s good, but but not quite there: too loose.

“H-harder,” Yoosung gasps, “Harder on the sides.”

Zen tightens his grip where he’s told, and it’s perfect: not choking him, not making him cough but just enough to make him lightheaded, just enough to make him feel everything: every sensation, every prickle and stab of pain. Zen’s bracing arm slides forward until Zen can find Yoosung’s burned hand and he grinds his palm on the top of it.

It’s too much. White encroaches along the edges of Yoosung’s vision, and he comes untouched with a long, thin, strangled moan. He goes limp, blissed out of his mind.

He must lose the next minute or two because the next thing he knows, he’s lying on his side, tucked under Zen’s arm. Zen’s already cleaned the cum off of him and now he’s using another tissue to clean up Yoosung’s tearstained face. Everything hurts: his straining muscles, his neck, his hand, his ear, his ass. It’s wonderful. He’ll be feeling this for days.

“And Sleeping Beauty wakes up again.” Zen smiles. He throws the used tissue into the wastebasket with a lazy arm and cards his fingers through Yoosung’s hair. “Was...was that okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Yoosung endorses wholeheartedly, then looks up at Zen in concern. “...what about you?”

“I liked it better than I thought I would,” Zen muses, “Really, I liked how you looked. How you were feeling.” He kisses Yoosung’s forehead, his nose, his mouth. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You were beautiful.”

Yoosung blushes, looking down at the bed, “I...it’s never been quite that intense before.”

“I’m glad I got to see it,” Zen says, “But...I hope…”

“What?”

“You haven’t just been...putting up with it before, have you?” Zen asks, looking troubled, “You know I want you to be happy; if you don’t like it that way then—”

“No, no, no, no!” Yoosung blurts, shocked, “That’s not it at all! I’ve enjoyed all the other times with you. I just...like it like this too.”

“Good,” Zen says, exhaling in relief, “Thank God. I would try, but it would be difficult for me to do it like this every time, I think.” He grins. “But every so often won’t be a problem at all. You’ll have to teach me more though soon so I can do better next time.”

_Next time_ , Yoosung thinks in awe, _I can’t believe there’s really going to be a next time._

“Y’know,” Yoosung says, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “You said you didn’t know what you were doing, but it didn’t seem that way at all.”

“Hmm, an unexpected benefit of being an actor?” Zen teases. When Yoosung frowns at him he looks to the side, embarrassed, “I...might have read up on a few things before coming here.”

“Read up on a few things? What things? Where did you get—”

Zen buries his face in Yoosung’s hair. “Jaehee sent me links. I think Jumin told her to send them.”

“WHAT.” Yoosung squawks.

“I know,” Zen groans, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look her in the eye again.”

“Wait, Jumin knows?? And I know Saeyoung would’ve told his girlfriend so…” Yoosung blinks, realization coming down on him like a ton of bricks. “Does this mean that the whole RFA knows about our sex life?”

“...I think so.” Zen confirms, chagrined.

“O.M.G.”

Yoosung spends a few minutes being completely mortified before Zen prods him.

“Hey,” Zen says, “Someone’s blowing up your phone.”

Yoosung grabs it, unlocks it, and scrolls through. It’s Seven, of course, demanding a status report on ‘his mission.’ Yoosung snorts and keeps scrolling backwards. There are texts that are just a string of question marks, texts that are cheering him on, etc, etc, but the earliest unread text he has makes Yoosung pause. It’s the one Seven had sent him when he was at lunch with Zen, when he’d been asking him what he should do and Seven had advised him just to tell Zen straight out and then Yoosung had asked him if Seven had thought that would really work. He’d put his phone away afterwards and had never checked the last text he got in return.

‘Even if he doesn’t understand,’ It says, ‘You know he’ll still love you.’

Yoosung sets his phone aside, unable to stop himself from beaming. Zen raises an eyebrow.

“Who was that?” Zen asks, “What are you smiling at?”

Yoosung sticks his tongue out at him. “Nothing~”

Zen growls and pounces on him, playfully, “If you don’t tell me I’ll eat you up.”

“Haha, then maybe I shouldn’t ever tell you,” Yoosung snickers.

Zen pretends to snap his teeth at Yoosung’s nose, and Yoosung swats him away.

“I was smiling at you,” Yoosung confesses.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Zen tilts his head to the side expectantly.

“Nothing,” Yoosung says, happy enough to burst, “I just love you.”

And he pulls him down for one more kiss of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that finally concludes this fanfic! i have read plenty of porn in my day but this is my first time writing it so........hope it's okay;;
> 
> also i got a twitter now @rixsig_writes so hit me up if you got any zensung prompts or if you just wanna talk zensung to me ;D


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